


Can it Be Christine?

by KChan88



Series: She Was Bound to Love You [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Bisexual!Christine, F/F, Girl!Raoul, Lesbian!Raoul, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: What if Raoul de Chagny was a woman?A series featuring the major events (and a few things in-between) from the Phantom of the Opera, with a gender-bent, lesbian Raoul (and a bisexual Christine). ALW based, with Leroux elements.Scene 1: Think of Me, or Raoul falls in love with her childhood friend all over again.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Series: She Was Bound to Love You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627735
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49





	Can it Be Christine?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with the idea of a female Raoul lately, so I wanted to write it down! Just as a note, while Raoul has been gender-swapped to be a woman, Erik is still a man, and Christine remains a woman. I hope you enjoy!

Raoul de Chagny has never claimed to be anything other than a hopeless romantic.

Except, well, she wasn’t _expecting_ to melt into her seat when she opened the program at the opera, because she wasn’t _expecting_ to see Christine Daae’s name inside.

Christine _Daae_.

She hasn’t seen Christine in a few years, and yet somehow just the sight of the name makes her want to leap from the box, right now, and rush backstage to scoop her old friend up in an embrace. Maybe it’s the opera house making her feel light-headed and half in love already, with the plush red seats and the perfume in the air, the taste of red wine hanging on her lips. She remembers those old childish feelings for Christine, those feelings that made her adolescent heart beat just a little faster, and they’re rushing back now, just at the sight of a name in a program.

“What happened to La Carlotta?” she asks the managers, who seem rather unsure about her holding the duties of patron in her brother’s stead. Philippe is with her, tonight, and Andre and Firmin keep looking to him even as he insists that Raoul is to be in charge of this matter.

Firmin’s face twists in embarrassment, but Andre, the cleverer—and kinder—of the two, answers her.

“There was an incident, we can speak later about it, but Mademoiselle Daae shall do splendidly, I think.”

Firmin grumbles something unintelligible, looking just a moment too long at Raoul’s clothes—her woman’s skirt paired with a waistcoat and a man’s shirt, along with the silk-lined evening coat that might have once been Philippe’s. Andre seems intrigued by her, Firmin perhaps more confused.

When Christine steps on stage, Raoul’s world shakes. Something is different. Something is _right_. Christine performs a breathtaking aria, the entire audience swept under her spell, and Raoul along with them.

Her voice is _beautiful_ , _she’s_ beautiful, and Raoul _is_ hopeless.

Christine’s voice is starlight and moonlight and sunlight and every kind of light possible, soaring up into the air and leaving magic behind. Christine was always made of magic, with her stories and her laughter and her smile, her voice a part of that larger whole. Christine was always best at asking for tales when they knocked on the doors of neighbors as children, her natural charm making people open up. Raoul swears she sees a shimmer as the notes die off, echoing all the way to the back of the opera house.

“Raoul…”

Raoul thinks she hears her name, but then, maybe she’s dreaming it, maybe she’s dreaming of _Christine_ saying her name and she _must_ get backstage, after the performance. She thinks of Christine on the shore in Brittany and the way the sea breeze made her pale cheeks pink, the way the red scarf popped against the chestnut curls.

“Raoul!”

No, that _is_ someone talking to her, and a hand gently shoving her ankles.

“Put your feet down,” Philippe says, not without a fond smile. “That’s a bad habit of yours, you know.”

“Do you think she would remember me?” Raoul asks as she takes her feet down, turning in the chair toward her brother.

Philippe leans back, arching one eyebrow. “Would who remember you? I wager to say anyone would, darling girl, you are nigh unforgettable.” He smiles just a little, tugging on the end of Raoul’s long, deeply unfashionable braid. “Though perhaps that’s partly because of your hair, next time we come, _please_ let Madeline put it up correctly for you.”

“I don’t care about _anyone_!” Raoul exclaims, clapping perhaps louder than she should at the end of Christine’s performance with a shouted _brava_ , the whole opera house getting to their feet in praise, and so she does, too. “I care about her!”

“Who are you talking about, Raoul?”

“Christine,” Raoul whispers, pointing down to the stage.

Philippe’s eyes go wide, and he checks the program again. “Oh yes, _Daae_ , your friend from the sea, I recall. Is that her, then? How astonishing.”

Raoul watches Christine leave the stage, staring after her until she’s out of sight. “It’s her,” she whispers.

“Raoul…” Philippe lowers his voice as Andre and Firmin exit the box. “You know I’ve said you may take on a woman as your companion, and I’ll be damned if anyone says anything about it, as far as they know you and whoever the woman might be are very close friends. But I beg of you, can we not cause trouble at the opera house?”

“Philippe,” Raoul interrupts, not unkindly, because she _is_ grateful for her brother’s support. “People know.”

Philippe waves that concern off, apparently worried about something else. “We need not make trouble here at the opera, is what I’m saying. You wanted this patronage, remember? You love the arts, you’re always rattling about with that violin of yours.”

“The one that Christine’s father taught me to play,” Raoul points out. “Unless you’d forgotten he was famous?”

Raoul grabs her decorative walking cane—truthfully it’s a swordcane, but Philippe doesn’t know that, exactly—and sweeps her skirts out of her chair.

“I have to go backstage!” she exclaims. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Raoul…” Philippe sighs in her direction.

Raoul swipes one of the red roses out of the bouquet sitting next to Philippe’s chair—meant for his mistress La Sorelli the ballerina, no doubt—laughing when her brother gives a huff of protest.

“ _Raoul_.”

Raoul, already out of the box and with only Christine on her mind, pays her beloved older brother no attention.

She has to find Christine.


End file.
